


The Hat

by welseykels



Series: Fallout 4: Charlotte Walsh [9]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Clothing Kink, F/M, Oral Sex, Post-War, Pre-War, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welseykels/pseuds/welseykels
Summary: Post-war Nick Valentine reflects on the day Charlotte congratulated him on taking his detective exam over two centuries ago.Inspired by the absolutely wonderful commander-cullywully and a commissioned art piece by the amazing artsybizaar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out my writing masterpage on tumblr!](https://welseykels.tumblr.com/writing)

Nick breathes a sigh of relief as he slots his key into the door of his apartment.  The day had been beyond stressful, he’d taken his final exam to become a detective, the next step in his career as a police officer.  It was something he’d always dreamed, something that was finally within reach. But he was ready to fall into bed immediately from the exhaustion of studying on end for days, for weeks. He needed sleep.

He was barely through the door when he noticed that things were not as how they should be.  _ A detective knows these things… or at least a soon-to-be detective does _ .

Charlie always put her discarded clothing in the hamper without fail - even when she stayed at his apartment… But why was her shirt sitting in the hallway? Or her socks a little further? Or her skirt just outside the bedroom's door?

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out and a cop could do just fine on his own. His body heats and responds with each step he takes. He knows where this is heading - and he likes it, the idea of sleep momentarily forgotten, but not the thought of being in bed. He knew she’d been planning to stay the weekend, back from visiting her grandparents still in Salem, but he hasn’t realized she’d be there before him.  He’d thought he’d get at least a few hours of unconsciousness in.  In his concentration, he'd forgotten about the spare key he'd given her the month before. 

It's when he sees her bra hanging from the bedroom's door knob that he's absolutely sure what his girlfriend has on her mind.

But she’s not there when he walks in the room.

“Charlie? Sweetheart?”

“In here, Nicky.”

He swallows hard when he walks into the kitchen towards her voice, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he does so, not quite expecting the sight that’s before him:  Charlotte’s standing there in nothing but panties, stockings, and a hat he’s never quite seen before.  It looks enough like the one he wears each day - the very one he has on his own head - but it’s new, not worn from his own fingers worrying at the edges, from years of use.

“I thought a new hat would be in order, for my big-shot detective.”

He stands there, words having completely left him.  He knows his jaw is open, can feel it in the way his breath pants past his lips. 

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Her auburn hair hangs and curls just past her shoulders, brushing against her collarbones.  A blush stains her cheeks, shadowed slightly by the brim of the hat.

_ That hat. _

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever want to accept it from her, it looks like it was made for her instead. At least that’s his opinion and he’d very gladly stake his life on it.  But right now, he knows there are other parts of her that he should be roaming his eyes - and hands - over.

But he’d enjoy that hat on her too, thoroughly.

His gaze slowly drifts down to her breasts, peaked with want. He wants to touch her, and so he does.  When he follows her to the counter, where she’s propped herself, his hands wind their way around her hips.  His fingers slip under the edge of lace ever so slightly.  His kiss is hard, needy after the stress of the day.  His tongue wants her immediately, swiping across her lips and pressing in when they part slightly.  She moans under his touch, and presses closer.  

Her lips part with his, but only barely.  “I want you to fuck me, Detective Valentine.”

The noise that comes out of him is half moan, half huff.  “Well, I’m not a detective yet, Charlie. I won’t know until -”

Her voice is firmer this time as she cuts him off, “I said: I want you to fuck me, de - tec - tive.”  Her index finger tapped at his nose, emphasizing each syllable of her final word.

_ Who was he to deny what she wanted? _

“Alright, sweetheart.”

He has barely begun to kiss her again when she switches their places, spinning them both until he was the one pressed against the hard surface of the island counter.  Barely moments after she was unbuckling his belt and trousers and pressing him back against the edge.

And then she’s on her knees before him.

He can’t see her face, or really anything below the brim of the hat.  But he can feel her.  He can feel the fabric of his pants and briefs pull down his legs just enough, feel the puff of breath from between her lips before her hand presses along him, the moment her fingers leave him before they’re replaced with her mouth.

He has to brace his hands on the counter, gripping tightly as she touches him. 

And then she stops.  And he groans.

And then he’s being pushed onto the counter, which thankfully, she’s already cleared before he got home.  He idly remembers leaving the newspaper and textbooks and empty coffee mug there.  She crawls on top of him, pressing him to lay down across the surface as she grinds her hips down against his.

She makes to lift the hat from her head, more than likely to place it on his own to allow her to lean forward and press her lips to his without the brim truly getting in the way.

“Lea -” He groans as her thighs press tighter against his hips as she moves up his body.  “Leave the hat on.”

He’s glad he still has most of his clothes on, just the little strip of open material at the small of his back when his shirt has been pulled out and his pants opened touches the cold stone of the counter.  Her fingers run over his abdomen, until they find a home on his chest, one resting just over his heart.

She closes her eyes as she adjusts herself, pulling aside the strip of black fabric covering her before she’s sinking down along him slowly.  He isn’t sure when he had stopped breathing, but he gasps for air when she settles fully on him.

This, this is what he needs.

It’s slow at first, small shifts of her hips to grind against him.  Her mouth falls into a small ‘o’ as she rocks, his fingers gripping tighter at her hips.  He even cheekily snaps at one of her garters when he starts growing impatient for her to stop teasing them both with her slow pace.

And he certainly doesn’t regret doing so when he’s rewarded with her shifting along him, up and down, at a far quicker speed.

“Nicky!” She gasps as she shatters above him such a short time after he starts to thrust upward, keeping his word to fuck her.  Her eyes close as she rides through the pleasure coursing through her veins.

_ Is that how that night went?   _

_ He isn't sure if he's remembering all the details right. Was it in the kitchen? Or the living room on the coffee table? Was it really the day he took his exam? Had it been his birthday, instead?  He was certain of the hat, but everything else... _

“Nicky?  Nick?  Mind gone off somewhere else?”

She lifts his hat that's been resting over his golden eyes. She’s beside him in bed, propped up on an elbow looking over at him before she plops the hat on her own.  It’s been almost two-hundred and twenty years since the day that he's been remembering and well, she still gets his blood - _well,_ _coolant_ \- pumping. _And she's still wearing his hats._

He can’t believe that he’s been given this second chance with her. That he can hold her in his arms again - even if things aren't exactly as they used to be, even if it took a long time before they were together again - with nothing between them but skin on replicated skin now.

“Just thinking about when you bought me my hat.”

“When I wha -  _ oh _ .” She blushes, remembering. “I see.”

Her fingers trail along his chest, mapping the torn synthetic flesh from decades of use. He’d never thought it was ever this sensitive - but then again, he'd never really thought about it at all before. He shudders when one finger drifts over a nipple and then further south.

She leans closer and her lips brush against his, but she's backing away from his touch - fingers and lips leaving him -  as she slides towards the edge of the bed - before he can deepen the kiss any further. 

“Why don’t I remind you, De - tec - tive?”

She’s down the hall and sitting naked - save for his hat - on the old worn counter before he can really process her leaving the bed.  Her legs are spread and he feels all the coolant surge through his piping to cool the heat that breaks out across his body.

_ It was the kitchen, then. _


End file.
